Reboot
by kpop77
Summary: Suicide Squad reboot with much more Joker – When Rick Flag's girlfriend loses control over her powerful counterpart on a Squad mission to save a few US Diplomats, Rick Flag's only option with the benevolent meta-human Superman dead is to rely on his squad consisting of villains from Belle Reve.
1. Chapter 1

Description: Suicide Squad reboot with much more Joker – When Rick Flag's girlfriend loses control over her powerful counterpart on a Squad mission, Rick Flag's only option with the benevolent meta-human Superman dead is to rely on his squad consisting of villains from Belle Reve.

Disclaimer: Don't own the series, nope. This is just a rewrite by completely fixing the movie's plot and making it a) a bit more realistic and b) more joker and c) darker. Enjoy!

June was screaming.

Or was she?

Her conscience felt light, almost adrift, but her body felt like it was being dragged down into dark, cold depths. Her limbs were like lead—she couldn't move them, not even an inch. She could hear herself thinking, panicking, screaming, as the cave around her began rumbling and human skulls piled and piled upon each other began rattling.

And the little stone figurine, with its head disembodied from its shoulders, leering up at her. The stone figurine's face was barely recognizable—only the shape of its body indicated that it was supposed to be a representation of a female. But as June stared down at the head, she could feel it, no, she could _hear_ it mocking her.

 _Oh, June._ A soft voice whispered, as June fell into a lull. _June, June, June._

 _Who's there?_ June wanted to yell. But no sound came out from her parched throat, and as June stood there, in her newest discovery, a black wisp of some other-worldly gas began slowly emitting from the crack between the head and the body of the stone figurine. It rose slowly, tauntingly, as if laughing at June as the young archeologist fought to have control over her body.

 _You, and I… Are going to have_ so _much fun._

And the last thing June remembered before finally regaining control over her body as the cave came crashing down around her was the black mist enveloping her.

* * *

June's eyes flickered open. Everything was white. There was no rubble, debris, or skulls around her—no, she was in a hospital wing. Or what looked like a hospital wing.

She registered the even beating of her heart monitor, and the softness of the bed sheets on the tip of her fingers. Definitely a hospital wing. It was all real. And so was the nurse staring down at her in surprise and shock.

"Miss? Miss, do you see me?" The nurse asked, her tone calm and steady.

"… Yes, yes, I do." June managed to croak out, her throat feeling scratched and prickly as she forced her voice out. She stretched her two legs and fiddled with her ten fingers, slightly moving her two arms and moving her ten toes. She had all her limbs, and none of her bones felt broken, nor did she feel a cast encasing any part of her body.

The nurse nodded with relief, and briefly turned to June's IV bags and heart monitor, before turning to make call. "Doctor, Director? She's come to and seems stable."

So the Director had been the one to get her out, June thought ruefully. The Director had no loose ends—she had probably dispatched the emergency squad the moment the caving in began, although June was more surprised at the lack of wounds and broken bones she had.

The door swung open—a tall, aging man in a white coat and a short woman with a briefcase walked through.

"Director Waller." June greeted, her voice still throaty as she focused on the grim woman.

"Ms. Moone." Amanda Waller replied, an apologetic and concerned look on her face. "Are you feeling alright? When we lost contact with you, I hurried to get you out of that cave—I'm so sorry for asking you to go excavate it."

"No, no!" June shook her head, eyes wide. "Please, don't apologize. It was an offer I couldn't refuse—an unexcavated cave was something I always wanted to venture. If anything, it was my carelessness."

Amanda nodded, the concern still very clear in her eyes. "Please, Ms. Moone, I should be the one apologizing and taking responsibility for any damage that might have been caused. Please, if anything else happens, be sure to contact me first."

June nodded slowly, eyes flickering from the doctor back to Amanda. "Yes, yes, of course. Definitely."

When the doctor and nurse left, Amanda leaned towards June, voice low. "Miss Moone. Did you find what I requested?"

June nodded, swallowing.

A few months ago, June's professor at Gotham City University had recommended her to Amanda Waller when Waller had come to search for archaeology experts. Her professor, though still in his mid-forties, had injured his leg, while the other people in the department were too old to go on an excavation. June's professor had enthusiastically recommended June, crediting her as his best student.

Waller was looking for a stone figurine—an idol of some sorts—that was apparently used to worship a supernatural being over six-thousand years ago. June had assumed Waller, as some sort of Director, wanted to exhibit the figurine in Gotham City's museum.

June's research over the following months had led her to a cave, hidden away from sight in the crag in a large, tree-covered mountain in South America.

"There was something wrong." June said, in a hushed voice as Amanda stared down at her, looking intimidating and much _colder_ than a few minutes before. "The head of the idol got disconnected from the body, and the thing is, even though I don't remember quite clearly, I think it was _me_ that did it. I think… I think that something just compelled me to do it."

Amanda set her briefcase on the nightstand by June's bed, as June heaved herself up. June's eyes widened when she saw what Amanda pulled out of her brief case—the stone idol, head and body separate. "These two components were held in your hands tightly when my team found you. A lot of its features had faded away so I couldn't be sure if they were the same as the one in the sketches in your notes, Dr. Moone."

"That's it." June whispered in a hushed tone, staring at the idol with wide eyes. "That's the idol you've been looking for."

"How do you know that?" Amanda raised her brow.

"Because, whatever being that idol was built to worship," June started unsteadily, as she looked up at Amanda, "conversed with me."

"And I think she's inside me." June whispered, in a voice not quite like her own.

* * *

"Waller, you're out of your goddamn mind." Gomez, a proud Navy Seal, growled, slicing at his steak aggressively. "You're just letting a girl who's encountered some mystical witch—and apparently combined souls with her—walk around Gotham City?"

"I have her under surveillance. I have the best soldier I know, Colonel Rick Flag, and the rest of his team constantly on the move, monitoring her in case anything goes wrong. If anything does happen, Flag and his team will subdue her." Amanda promised, as she took a bite of her own dish. "But there's something else I want to discuss tonight."

"You sure are on the move, with Superman gone. You were obviously itching to find another one by sending that girl on that excavation mission." A senior government official, Dexter Tolliver, muttered through bites.

"We learned how dangerous a meta-human can be with Superman's existence, and we're sure as hell lucky he didn't want to destroy the planet. Batman barely contained Superman, and we can't expect him to be everywhere whenever a powerful being shows up." Amanda reasoned, her voice low. "I want to create a team of people who have capabilities that can contain meta-humans, and problems that may arise outside of Gotham City."

"Oh, a legion of Batmans?" Gomez snorted, taking a sip of wine. "In case you haven't noticed, Batman uses gear that can only be supplied by using high-end technology and a ridiculous amount of funding that could probably build three-hundred empire state buildings an fifty more nukes. We aren't gonna be able to fund a legion of _those_."

"Batman's tied down with the Joker. He won't be doing much saving around our entire country." Amanda ignored Gomez's mocking tone, before turning to Tolliver. "I'm sure you're well-associated with _this_?"

Amanda took out a large binder and set it gingerly on the table. "These are my planned recruits. I'm sure you're familiar with most of them."

Tolliver wearily picked the binder up, and opened it. He visibly paled. "Waller, what the _fuck_ is this?"

"Inmates at Belle Reve. It says so on their profiles." Amanda tartly replied, her tone nonchalant as she refused to waver in front of the two disbelieving men.

"I have eyes, Amanda. I mean, why the _fuck_ are you trying to create a team using _villains_? Deadshot—how'd you even find this man?" Tolliver asked, mouth ajar in shock as he waved the binder in Amanda's face.

Amanda did not flinch. She had to get this done. "He operates occasionally in Gotham City. Apparently has a daughter there too. I just gave a little tip to the city's resident vigilant."

"Some Australian boomerang tossing thief, a reptilian man who's apparently part crocodile, a former mobster who can create fire, someone who can climb walls efficiently, and last but not least," Tolliver muttered as he flipped through the binder, "Joker's crazy girlfriend."

Amanda looked at him evenly as Tolliver's eyes probed her expression for answers. He was begging her to tell him that everything in that binder was just a joke. Tolliver found his answer before Amanda could reply. "You're serious. I can't believe—you want highly wanted criminals to work for the _government_?"

"Deadshot can hit a bee from a mile away. That mobster who refers to himself as El Diablo can quite literally conjure fire—I've witnessed it. That reptilian man, Killer Croc? It took at least 20 men to finally take him down, although it's ludicrous they faced him without tranquilizers. Slipknot's eluded the government for years with his climbing abilities. Captain Boomerang is a genius with his weapons. And I'm sure I don't need to introduce you to Harley Quinn." Amanda narrowed her eyes, before setting her fork down. "You see, with June Moone encountering this _entity_ and supposedly merging with her, we have yet another meta-human on the loose. El Diablo is a meta-human under our control; if we can form a squad with these people, we may have the most efficient military squad the government has seen. A squad that can come face to face with another Superman should that ever happen."

"And who will lead them? Who's gonna keep them from blowing everyone's goddamn brains out?" Gomez demanded angrily. "I train some of the best men this nation has to offer, and you pass them off for these second-rate criminals—"

"These second-rate criminals can destroy an army unit by themselves. It takes a man in a bat suit to catch even _one_ of them." Amanda coldly replied in a challenging tone. "I'll have Rick Flag, who's surveying June Moone at this very moment, leading them. He's more than capable."

"And how will you test their efficiency?" Tolliver quietly asked, throwing the binder down onto the table.

Amanda knew she had won.

"Testing them against meta-humans will be hard; after all, we don't really have any causing conflict as of this moment. But I want them to break into a high-security prison on the island of Diabloverde, near the Bermuda Triangle. There have been reports that a US government official and a few diplomats are currently trapped there." Amanda said slowly. "I want these people to free them. See how they work as a team, and whether they're strong enough."

Tolliver breathed in heavily, before warily looking at Waller. "… I'll see this goes through. But one misstep, and you can kiss your career and your misguided confidence goodbye."

"Forcing people into acting for the better interests of the United States is my job." Amanda said coolly, a triumphant smile on her face. "I know what makes them tick—and they're all in the palm of my hand."

* * *

 _Somewhere in Gotham City_

It was a bad day. It was one of his bad days. Not as bad as the first one that ended up concluding with his pasty skin and permanently green hair, but still, bad.

There was something missing in his room as he surveyed the knives and sharp weapons and clothes that he had arranged in a careful, meticulous circle around him. Maybe he had forgotten to switch the hatchet with the Swiss army knife. Maybe he had switched his hand gun with his favorite machine gun. Yes, it definitely had to be the guns. After switching their order, he would feel complete and free and simply marvelous and ready to go on his next big heist to face Batman.

Yes, this emptiness wasn't because anyone was missing—he'd just killed three men who had dared to joke that his club felt less glamorous without the main star. _He_ was the main star, no one else. He was the center of the spotlight, the one and only jester; the magnificent main to battle Batman to the death—of course, it would be himself who would always have the last laugh, not the grown man in wedgie-inducing black underpants and a cloak.

Yes, the emptiness was because of Batman. Because he hadn't seen Batman in so long, that was why. But the moment he picked up one of his blades, the stainless steel acting as the perfect mirror—he stopped.

Oh. When had he drawn a smile on his face with a black sharpie? He must have missed it, although how he had confused him greatly. And oh, what was that on his face—water? Strange, he must have gone to the bathroom to wash his face, although he didn't quite remember it.

And he saw _it_ behind him. The suit of red and black—an extra costume that she had loved to don.

And he could hear her laugh, calling him puddin' and Mr. J, barely entertaining him from putting a bullet through her thick skull. He could see her dancing in front of masses of people, but keeping her gaze on him playfully and waiting for him to blow the brains of whoever had her dancing in their lap. God fucking damnit, had he accidentally snorted too much cocaine? He should be happy that she was finally gone, happy that she wasn't whining about date night and parties and killing and—

"Joker." Johnny Frost entered the room, and he swiveled around to face him, feeling eager.

Because _fuck it,_ the Joker needed to feel that deliciousness in a heist and the only one who could do it for him was his queen. "Where is she?" He asked, his voice gravelly as he ignored the tears that were suddenly so palpable.

Johnny settled down on the steps. "We've found her alright. Belle Reve. And it's not just her—everybody's just disappeared, and I'm guessing that's where they all are."

"Oh, really?" Joker murmured, setting his blade back down in its original place, before lying down in the middle of his most prized possessions.

His Harley was going to be back with him, to wreak havoc on this whole city.

And for the first time in quite a while, he let out a few, genuine cackles.

A/N: just a lil take, i guess. reviews appreciated ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own none of this, nope, nope.

Quick A/N: Thank you for the positive feedback! I hope this chapter delivers as well :)

* * *

June wrapped her hands around her warm coffee mug, avoiding looking at the men who were making it painfully obvious that they were watching her every move. June wasn't stupid—if anything, they were monitoring everything she did except for when she showered or took a shit. The man who had joined her class—Rick Flag—definitely did not understand the first thing about archeology. If Flag was smart enough to study for his Ph.D. like the rest of the people sitting through the long lectures, he probably would be taking notes instead of staring at the back of June's head.

And here she was, sitting in a Starbucks trying to complete her paper, with a man outside the glass door staring at her keenly, four others sitting around her—at different tables, but still at close proximity—and Rick Flag, directly opposite of her reading through a comic book.

"So, Rick," June started, as she resumed typing on her laptop, "have you started your paper yet?"

Rick looked up at her with a raised brow, and June, being the fossil and artifacts freak she'd been since she was thirteen, realized she hadn't paid much attention to how good-looking this man was. "What?"

June rolled her eyes, fighting the butterflies down. "The paper on landscape archeology? Where we set up our own thesis and it determines whether we pass of not?"

Rick raised his eyebrows lazily, and June could tell he wasn't taking her seriously at all. Absolutely insufferable. The butterflies were already dying.

"Look, if you're just going to be observing my every move except for when I shower and take a dump, I suggest you do it outside of the classroom." June burst out, trying to keep her voice low so that the other men around her wouldn't approach. "I am sick and tired of having someone like you, who has no appreciation whatsoever for archeology or history in the slightest, sitting and staring at the back of my head through doctoral level lectures that some people have been waiting years and years to accomplish."

Rick Flag's mouth hung ajar, and he set his comic book down. He tipped his head to the side. "Say, June."

"What?" June asked irritably.

"Why don't I take you out on a date?" Rick asked, a boyish smile on his face.

But June wasn't falling for that. She growled irritably. "Why don't you go to the library and put your nose in a book that doesn't have flashy pictures all over the place?"

She slammed her laptop down and stuffed it into her bag angrily, before pushing the door open and sending the man stationed outside an angry glare.

* * *

June set her bag down in her apartment and walked into the bathroom. She was tired—she needed to wash her face and wake herself up. The paper's deadline was coming up soon, and June wanted to complete this degree to the best of her abilities. No way in hell was she going to hand in a half-assed paper.

Turning the tap on, she let the cool water run through her stiff fingers. It had been weeks since she had heard that voice from the cave. Every morning, she'd sit on her bed quietly and wonder if that resonating voice would ring in her ears and reverberate in her skull again, just like it had in the cave. But that strange, ethereal being wouldn't speak to her, and she'd walk out of her room feeling uncertain, and somewhat afraid.

June splashed cold water onto her face, wiping the droplets away from her eyes as she blinked her vision back into focus.

 _Miss me, June?_

June jerked, almost tripping backwards.

 _Oh, June, haven't you been wondering about me?_

"Why are you in my head?" June asked out loud, staring at her reflection in the mirror. "And who are you?"

 _My name is lost in history, carved into stone that has long since faded away. But you may call me Enchantress._

"You aren't answering my questions properly." June whispered, shaking uncontrollably. Her limbs were feeling heavy. "Why are you in my head?"

 _You freed me, June. You let me share your body._ The voice was getting louder and louder, the tone mocking. _You let me compel you. All I want is to share it._

"This is _my_ body. If you're an enchantress, then make one yourself." June growled.

 _Oh, June, six-thousand years of binding within stone has ruined me—so many limits, so much lost. Surely, you would be willing to help me, June? Just let me share this body—let me roam this Earth again once more until I regain my former glory._ The mocking tone was gone now—Enchantress' voice had turned silky smooth, sweet like honey and soothing like a calm ocean.

June could feel the voice lulling her to sleep—June was losing control again. She gripped the sides of the sink tightly, shaking as she looked at herself in the mirror. She could see her eyes, full of fear—and her reflection shifted to show a darker, ethereal being. A woman covered in grit and dust, wearing a green dress and moon accessory on the crown of her head. Her hair was dark and matted as if it were a clump of seaweed—but worst of all, her eyes, hollow pits with blazing yellow irises, were horrifying.

And June blacked out.

* * *

"Director Waller, this is Colonel Flag reporting—part of June Moone's apartment spontaneously combusted. We're going in to put her down." Rick said into his walkie-talkie, rushing up the stairs through the smoke.

"Remember, I want her brought back alive." Waller said.

"Will do." Rick whistled as he got to June's door. He signaled for his men to stop for a few seconds, checking the parameters for any immediate signs of danger, before carefully opening the door.

Everything inside the apartment was a mess—broken flower pots and spilled soil, torn pillows and scattered feathers, upturned chairs and tables, shattered glass and china, and piles and piles of books all over the place. Rick took in a deep breath and gingerly took a step in.

Just what had that girl gotten herself into?

Was it him irritating her earlier that day in that Starbucks that unleashed her inner witch-goddess? Hopefully, Rick prayed to himself, hopefully not.

He followed the trail of smoke into a bedroom that was just as trashed as the living room, and then into a large bathroom.

There, in a large bathtub filled with black water, was June Moone. Her legs were pulled to her chest and her hair was plastered to her shoulders as she shook uncontrollably, tears staining her face. She looked up at Rick, eyes bleary with tears that didn't seem to stop, and slowly opened her mouth.

"Please," she said, in a hoarse voice. "Help me."

* * *

"Ms. Moone, what exactly transpired in your apartment earlier today?" Amanda Waller asked, pacing in her office as June—who had changed into clean clothing—took a sip of hot tea.

"I don't really know." June confessed, looking down at her beverage. "I blacked out—but only when it happened."

"When _what_ happened?" Amanda pressed.

"When… When the being, Enchantress, took over my body." June murmured, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. "I heard her clearly today, at my apartment. She asked for control over my body, and I think she managed to win me over. But I could still see and hear what I, or, what Enchantress, was doing."

"And what did she do?"

"She just used a burst of energy. A burst of really, really angry energy." June swallowed. "And then she sort of crumpled, like she had depleted all of her energy after that one burst, and I managed to take control over my body again."

"And why were you submerged in a tub full of suspicious liquid?" Amanda asked, crossing her arms.

"She made me do it, told me it would sooth me." June whispered, hanging her head. "And in the water—I don't know; I could think much more clearly. But I couldn't move my body at all."

Amanda Waller sat back behind her desk, watching June like June was some lab rat. "I know you want to complete your degree, but unfortunately, until you can fully control that meta-human, we'll have to have you here, in our compound."

"So a prisoner?" June asked bitterly.

"You'll still be able to go outside." Amanda replied. "However, we'll have Colonel Flag and his team accompanying you everywhere you go in case anything happens. Here, you'll be treated like one of our esteemed guests."

"And please," Amanda said, standing up and leaning over her desk to look June straight in the eye, "do not take our hospitality for granted."

* * *

 _Belle Reve_

"Hello, hotness." Officer Griggs grinned. "Are you ready for today's special treatment?"

The woman hanging from her makeshift trapeze looked at him upside down, grinning from ear to ear sweetly as she beckoned with her hand. "Only if you'll play with me!"

"Don't be like that, you nutcase," Griggs groaned. "Just come down and let us escort you, and make everything easy for the both of us."

The woman jumped down, landing gracefully on her two feet, before brushing her long, blond hair behind her back. She looked over at the many guards that Griggs had brought with him—fifteen, max. "My puddin' wouldn't treat me like this." Harley Quinn pouted, clinging onto the bars of her cage pitifully.

"Your puddin' happens to be a psychopathic criminal who left you to die in the harbor while Batman came chasing for your sorry asses." Griggs rolled his eyes, as Harley Quinn snarled in anger. "And you know the rules—let go of the bars, or else."

Harley broke out into disjointed laughs, licking a bar of her cage defiantly as she looked up at Griggs challengingly.

"Okay, then." Griggs sighed, before talking into his earbud. "You know what to do."

And for the nth time, Harley Quinn felt the zap of electricity run through her fingers, up her arms, and fry her brain—just the way she liked it.

 _"Hello, Mr. Joker. I've brought you something today." Harleen smiled, sitting opposite the mad man in his rather uncomfortable-looking straight jacket. He wasn't looking at her, and his eyes were wandering around the room, as if she was just another piece of inconvenient furniture._

 _Harleen had promised her superiors to fix the Joker in a matter of months—he was her assignment and her responsibility. She had to bring the man back to sanity; she had to save him. He had mostly been responsive to her questions, and had requested little things now and then. A stuffed animal—preferably kittens or cats, a cup of coffee, a stick of butter, a toy sword, and even a coffee machine._

 _Harleen had brought him all of these things, and the Joker had showed a large sign of improvement. He'd tell her about his troubled past—his constant fight with Batman, his inexplicable urges, his transformation, his bad day, and his troubling mentality. His varying stories would begin to line up as the sessions continued, and Harleen was confident that she was reaching him._

 _"Hello, doctor." The Joker smiled amicably. "Why, what a lovely surprise—I do quite live for these moments with you."_

 _Harleen gave him a bashful smile—so he even appreciated everything she was doing for him. He was so gentle; why couldn't anyone else see this friendly demeanor under that crazed grin? She pulled out a small stuffed cat from her pocket, and pushed it towards him. "It's a cat!"_

 _"Wonderful." The Joker whispered, in that low voice that Harleen found to be so seductive. "You've been so dedicated to me, doctor, that I feel like you've been such a great help for fixing whatever looney tune that's singing in my brain."_

"Thank you—you know, for accepting rehabilitation." Harleen smiled back.

 _"And you would be willing to do something for me, on the way?" The Joker asked, rocking on his chair. "To just… help my unsettled, rattled, addled poor little mind?"_

 _"Anything." Harleen quickly replied, before blinking and regaining her composure. "I mean, yeah."_

 _The Joker leaned forward, until his nose was barely brushing against Harleen's, and quite seriously said. "I need a machine gun."_

 _"… A machine gun?" Harleen asked, breathing heavily as the Joker leaned closer._

 _The Joker broke into a smile, and Harleen knew she had to do it for her patient. Anything to make him appreciate her even more—anything to make him normal and fix him._

 _Anything to make him love her even more._

 _Harleen didn't regret it when the Joker's men razed Arkham Asylum to the ground. She didn't regret it when they threw her onto a table, although they did rough her up good. She showed resistance, trying to break free from their painful grip, before seeing the Joker walk in._

 _Instantly, she calmed down._

 _The Joker was her friend—he appreciated her. He would talk to her. He wouldn't kill her._

 _But when the Joker flashed the bright lamp light into her face, for just a moment, Harleen felt a dawning realization._

 _What the hell had she done?_

 _"Hello, doctor." The Joker whispered, putting a hand to her cheek._

 _Harleen swallowed. "What, are you going to kill me now, Mr. J?"_

 _ _The Joker looked genuinely surprised. "Now why would I do that to such an amazing woman like you?"__

 _And just like that, Harleen's walls crumbled again._ He appreciates me _,_ _she thought warmly,_ he appreciates me. I can trust him. I can love him.

 _The Joker smiled—that same, friendly smile—before putting a leather belt to her mouth. "I'm just gonna hurt you—really, really, bad."_

 _But Harleen was far from fear. "Let me take it." She whispered, as the electrical currents ran through her brain._

"So, what do you want today? Vanilla, Chocolate or Strawberry, which drug would cure your fried brain?" Officer Griggs' voice was a far cry away as Harley Quinn breathed heavily in her chair. She couldn't even struggle or move—that last electrical current had definitely been a few volts higher, the fucking bastards.

Everything felt bleary and blank, and she could hear herself murmuring strawberry, but Griggs called for the weird doctors to use vanilla, and suddenly everything felt like it was spinning and Harley Quinn could see bats and mallets and more bats and colors and guards and her puddin' waiting with outstretched arms as she clutched at the arm rests of her chair in agony.

* * *

 _Somewhere in Gotham City_

"She's probably been waiting at least a week for me to come get her." The Joker snarled as he assembled his favorite weapons—his most valuable toys. "That dumb girl, making me come get her. God, why couldn't she have just gone to Poison Ivy and cried into that bitch's shoulder for a day or two and then come back?"

Johnny Frost refrained from reminding the Joker that it had actually been a few weeks—almost a month—since Harley Quinn had disappeared. He also refrained from reminding the Joker that he had turned up at the club a few weeks prior, soaking wet in his suit, shooting everyone there except for his henchmen and screaming for Batman to return Harley Quinn.

The Joker didn't want to remember—and Johnny Frost knew better.

* * *

 _Belle Reve_

"Hello, Floyd." Offcier Griggs called through the little opening in the cell door, before sliding a plate with a stale sandwich on it. "Bon Appetite."

Deadshot wasn't impressed. "Don't call me Floyd. And what the fuck is this? Hm? It looks like you got tar and slapped it between two flat-ass buns."

Griggs feigned sympathy. "It's all we got in this backwater hellhole, my friend."

"I am not your friend, you shit."

"Ouch. Well, have fun with your deluxe Rat Shit and Toe Nail sandwich. After that, we'll have the usual therapy." Griggs winked, before sliding the cell door shut.

Deadshot peeled the sandwich open—tuna salad and licorice. God, he hated this place. The only thing left to comfort him was his punching bag in the corner of his cell, and a tiny window that lead to the outside world. That tiny window was his only source of hope, and his only source of light—outside, somewhere, was his daughter, waiting for him to come back. And until then, all Deadshot could do was survive whatever brutality he had to face.

* * *

Deadshot didn't really know why the officers beat him up routinely with their batons. He just had super-human accuracy—beating him up wasn't going to make him shoot any worse, unless the officers wanted to snap his arms off. Which, they didn't. Perhaps he was their personal punching bag, a way for them to let out their frustration for having to work in such a dump.

And people were disgusted with criminals like him for trying to make a living.

Hilarious.

Now, some nice enough officers asked why Deadshot didn't just participate in the Olympics for the air rifle—after all, someone with accuracy like him could probably hit Olympic gold a few times and live care free for the rest of his damn life.

Deadshot had a family to take care of. His mother, then his ungrateful wife, and then his daughter. He had no time to dedicate four years to training and working with some renowned coach—and plus, doing mercenary work brought in much more money than whatever Olympic gold medal could.

And it was much more fun. Just because Deadshot cared for his family, didn't mean he had empathy for every other person. Shooting heads was much more fun than shooting a target.

Now, Deadshot didn't like to be sentimental, but whenever he heard the pitter-patter of rain outside the prison, he always remembered the faces of people he had killed. Not that he remembered everyone, he didn't have superhuman memory, but there were some people that he had regretted to kill. A single father of two daughters, targeted by some multi-millionaire. A man running for Senate with actual goals and realizable promises rather than all the bullshit that other government officials came up with. Some hotshot surfer who refused to be pimped. And a few more.

Of course, some were actual scumbags and uselessly annoying officials that Deadshot was more than happy to exterminate.

And he always thought of his daughter. She used to like playing in puddles made by rain water; that was when she was around nine. How tall would she be now? Would she still love the rain? Was she safe in Gotham City? Was her mother not being a complete bitch?

If only he could be free.

* * *

Part of Deadshot's wish came true when some new soldier and someone who looked like a well-fed government official walked him to a shooting range with the rest of the rotten officers at Belle Reve.

"My employer and I would like to see what you can do, Deadshot." The soldier crossed his arms.

"Uh-huh." Deadshot rolled his eyes. "And you're a what? A private?"

"Colonel. Colonel Rick Flag." The soldier replied tartly.

"Well, Flag," Deadshot sneered, "that's only happening if you let me shoot Griggs in the face."

Griggs and his men stiffened. Deadshot could hear them cocking their guns behind him, ready to shoot if he did anything out of line. Pussies. "Colonel, Director Waller, I told you this son of a bitch was trouble." Griggs stammered out. "Why would you put a renowned hit man in a shooting range, with every weapon possible?"

Waller remained stoic. "I'm here to make an offer, Deadshot. You show me what you can do, and I negotiate your prison sentence."

"Lady, I have a life sentence here." Deadshot rolled his eyes. "You might wanna try harder."

"If you cooperate," Waller replied, almost as if she had been waiting for it, "I'll see to it that your daughter enjoys some privileges."

Deadshot froze. "… You mean, like, pay for her tuition? Let her go to some posh-ass high school, and send her to one of those fancy Harvards, Yales, or Princetons?"

"Ivy League." Colonel Flag supplied.

"Yeah, that." Deadshot nodded. Waller knew he was listening. "If I show you what I can do, and if I'm right you want me to use my ability to do something for you—you'll help my daughter."

"Anything." Waller promised.

"Okay then." Deadshot shrugged. He picked up a small handgun. Oh, it felt so right back in his palm.

Silently, he aimed at one of the three dummies set up in the range, right between the eyes.

And he just kept firing. He didn't waver once—the bullets all hit home, simply enlarging the hole the previous bullet had made and never straying away, not even a millimeter. Once all the bullets had been fired, Deadshot gingerly set the hand gun down. "Comments? Questions? Reviews?"

Colonel Flag looked grudgingly lost for words, but Waller's face hadn't budged an inch. Deadshot took the liberty to speak up. "Okay, I want you to pay for my daughter's tuition. I want her to go to a nice, respectable high school, then go to an Ivy League university. If her grades don't make it, then just—just white people that shit. And I'm concerned because nobody's taking notes down because I am asking for quite a lot."

Colonel Flag frowned. "I don't think you're in the position to ask us of anything, Deadshot. You haven't even completed half of our requirement yet."

"I realized. Whatever bullshit you want me to deal with, I can finish in a matter of secods." Deadshot snarled. "And I'm not talking to you, hotshot. I'm talking to your employer."

"Officer Griggs," Amanda Waller said, her eyes peeling away from Deadshot. "See to it that this man is well-nourished until my next visit in three days. I'd like another word with him then."

A/N: I'm keeping up with the pace I prefer, but I do want to take some time to develop the characters. I've introduced June (more in-depth), Harley and Deadshot. It was easiest to write the latter two because of how much they're shown in the movie, but developing June took some time. Next update will probably include the rest of the squad, like Boomerang, Killer Croc, and El Diablo. There may be some mistakes here and there, but I hope this update doesn't disappoint. Until next time! Byeeeee


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own the DCEU, as always lol. There will be movie lines in here that I remember, but only because I'll need them.

* * *

Bored. That's what he is. Bored.

Watching people writhe in his club, on the dance floor, makes him crinkle his nose in disgust. Living for the thrill of sexual pleasure, simply what their libido tells them to do—simpletons. All of them.

But his Harley is different from the rest of the pack. No, he wouldn't have allowed her to accompany him had she been anything other than peculiar and extraordinary. She had already been quite strange and unpredictable as Harleen, after he had fried her brain numerous times. The first time, she had blinked away tears as she looked at him with pleading, blue eyes. But after that, a smile slowly began spreading across her face every time he strapped her to that bed. That just made it so much more savory.

Perhaps he had seen a lot of himself inside Harleen. Perhaps it was her persistence in accompanying him that had triggered some sort of… reaction when he first began torturing her. But that reaction, like all other chemical reactions, had fizzed away after a while. Like the carbon in grape soda, or the froth on beer. Or the juiciness of bubblegum. Either way, he had lost interest in torturing his former doctor, and had decided to let her do whatever she had to do in Arkham Asylum while he went on his usual sprees.

What he hadn't expected was for Harleen to follow him.

It annoyed him quickly. Harleen was supposed to be the end-result of his antics, the final message he had pegged to the board to show Gotham and the world just what happened when anyone attempted to make him "normal". Like anyone was normal in this twisted world—people fought to keep their true natures down, voluntarily binding themselves to society's restricting views and making themselves another generic tool in the process. He simply showed it in the flashiest way possible.

But ah, he's running off on a tangent now. Back to focus, back to focus. What was he about to tell all of us, who'd love to get into his frazzled little brain?

Harleen. Yes, Harleen. He remembered making her pull the trigger for the killing shot on a few of his victims, whenever he took her on heists. It was fun watching her squirm as he forced her to look at the dead corpses and blasted skulls and splotches of blood.

But at one point, she stopped squirming. And she began smiling.

Now, he had no problem with that—anyone who could enjoy his thrill was already on his friends list, which he tore up every five minutes and started anew. But alas, that little detail doesn't matter, does it? He could go on and on over anecdotes with him and his little minx that he's sure actually did happen, unless his imagination was running wild again. However, those little stories aren't that important at the moment either.

All that matters now, is that he's missing a clown-costumed, crazed little minx who could dash the brains of anyone with a charming smile. Sure, she's just as driven sexually as the rest of those simpletons on the dance floor—and she'd even managed to induce him into thinking how to enjoy himself with both her and a whoopee cushion, when he had been in an exceptionally good mood. And soon, oh so very soon, he'll rev up his Harley—until then, Puddin' will simply have to wait.

"Believe me," The Joker groans, to no one in particular, "it's wretched."

* * *

Griggs felt accomplished, as he sat in the casino with two beautiful ladies accompanying him side by side. When it came to blackjack, Griggs was a beast. When it came to poker, Griggs was still, quite a beast. So when he reeled in piles and piles of those colorful chips, he could feel his ego inflate by tenfold.

He could just feel those crisp, green notes jumbling in his hands, he could see that new coat he had wanted to get from Hermes.

And then some brawny men forced him into some meat cellar, and now, Griggs was ready to shit his pants.

The rhythmic _thack_ the carving knife made against the minced meat made Griggs flinch—all he had to do, was not imagine that it was him on that cutting board. It's not like they were going to make deluxe Griggs hamburger patties or meat pies. These men probably wanted in on Griggs' tactic to gambling. Or maybe they just wanted to rip all of his money off.

Given the circumstances, that was okay with Griggs.

"Look guys," Griggs started, trying to put on a brave front, "if it's about the chips, I can show you a little know-how trick, you know. I can hand you all my money I've earned—"

"Shut your trap." A man in sunglasses snarled.

"Hey, I just wanna know what the hell's going on. Okay?" Griggs' voice slowly died out to a little squeak as he felt a little tap on his shoulders.

"Blah, blah, blah, blah. All that chit-chat's gonna get you hurt." A voice mockingly said.

Griggs dared to glance at the hands on his shoulders. Pasty white. Black fingernails. Tattoos. A J ring.

 _Oh, for fuck's sake._

The Joker slapped Griggs' arms playfully, before settling down in front of Griggs. He held out his hand with his J ring, looking down at Griggs expectantly. Griggs hurriedly leaned forward to give the ring a gentle kiss, and backed off, keeping his eyes on the mad clown.

The Joker took in a deep breath, before swooping down to settle in Griggs' lap. "I could tell you meant that." The Joker whispered. "So my friends here tell me that you work at a prison—Belle Reve?"

Griggs wasn't an idiot—this was definitely about Harley Quinn. "Yes, that I do, sir."

"Position?" Joker asked, caressing Griggs' cheek.

Griggs tried not to make his uncomfortableness painfully obvious. "Senior officer, sir."

"Oh, drop the honorifics." Joker snorted, rolling his eyes as he lightly prodded Griggs' chest. "I prefer Mr. J."

"Yes, Mr. J." Griggs gulped.

"Good. Good. Now, I'm sure you're familiar with a… Harley Quinn?" Joker asked nonchalantly, examining his fingers as he stretched them out. They looked like spider legs.

"Yes, Mr. J."

"Ah." Joker bared his teeth. Just for a split second, a flash of anger spread across his pasty features before being replaced with another, easy smile.

"I'll give you anything you want. Anything you need." Griggs stammered out, his eyes pleading as he looked up at the Joker.

"Hm. But that's too easy." The Joker whispered, stroking his chin.

He thought long and hard, before gripping Griggs' face with one hand so tightly that Griggs looked like a bearded blowfish. With his other hand, he slapped Griggs' cheeks playfully. "I can't wait to show you my toys."

* * *

Killer Croc. A pet name a former employer had made for him, which had stuck over the years. It sounded cool in a gang—now, it just made Killer Croc feel even more animalistic than his scaly skin ever could… as did the goat carcass that the guards had thrown down the manhole. Officer Griggs chuckled as Killer Croc looked up the manhole with unblinking, yellow eyes. "Eat up, you big beast. You've got a long day waiting for you."

The last time anyone called him a beast in a negative way, Killer Croc had ripped his victim apart. As the manhole shut, Killer Croc approached the carcass and ripped off a piece, before chewing on it with vigor. The texture was like beef jerky, and the meat stuck to his teeth in little bits.

After picking the meat clean off of the bones, Killer Croc took the goat's mangled skeleton and shuffled towards the darkest corner of his cell. In that little corner stood a statue made of various bones—the shape itself was amorphous, not really resembling anything in particular, but to Killer Croc, it was his own menagerie. It looked pretty to him, despite his warped sense of beauty, and he enjoyed building his bone sculpture day by day.

The goat's rib cage was quite an excellent fit.

* * *

They knocked him out, strapped him to a wheelchair, injected something in his neck, put him inside a large bag, and drove him off to hell knows where. He thrashed and protested loudly in what he presumed to be the back of a truck, swearing bloody hell on them all and hoping that they'd all die.

"All of you are shitty little assholes." Captain Boomerang screamed, his voice cracking at _assholes_. He could hear the snickers and snorts from the men around him, and even if he couldn't see them, he knew that they were mocking him openly. "Don't laugh at me. Give me a boomerang, and I'll slice off all of your heads in one goddamn swoop, you hear?"

"We hear you, you crazy kangaroo." A man laughed loudly.

Captain Boomerang winced as he felt a kick to hit gut, and another land squarely on his jaw. God, if only he had his prized treasures—what had he done to get trapped in Belle Reve anyway? He only stole a few pounds of diamonds—he was saving up for his Maserati. Not like a few missing jewels would hurt.

He could still see that sniveling, boastful little runt of a superhero, The Flash, zapping in all directions around him just to mock him. The Flash probably wore that ostentatious red and gold costume to make himself look fancy and flashy, just so that people wouldn't notice he was a skinny little bitch that never got laid.

So when the guards finally let him out of his stuffy body bag, the first thing Boomerang did was sock one in the jaw, before a flurry of punches and kicks put him back down on the ground again. Two guards heaved him up before presenting him in front of some tight-faced soldiers, along with a strange line-up of rather strange looking inmates.

He recognized two of them—the Joker's girlfriend, and the infamous scaly mutant. The others struck him as normal, except for the tattooed Latino freak.

"The fuck is this?" Boomerang voiced, eliciting a little snort from the smug black dude.

"Obviously, we all made the cut for cheer-leading tryouts." The black dude smirked.

"And who the fuck are you?"

"Shut it, Boomerang." A soldier shouted. "Alright, here's the thing—you've all been chosen to participate in a special task force. Here's a debrief: we're going to rescue some government officials from a remote island, near the Bermuda Triangle, where they've apparently been kept hostage. And since you obviously don't know each other, we'll have a quick round of introductions. I'll start with myself—I'm Colonel Rick Flag, and I'm leading your stupid asses through this whole thing. You disobey me, you die. You try to escape, you die. We've injected a bomb into your necks—though it's the size of a grain of rice, it'll be enough to blow off your fucking face. So if you're smart, don't vex me."

"I'm really vexing," the Joker's girlfriend called out, raising a hand as she crinkled her brows under the sunlight, "I'm just forewarning you."

"Lady, shut up." Colonel Flag snapped back, and Harley Quinn gave him a disapproving frown. "Alright, I'm starting from the right, to left. El Diablo, Deadshot, Killer Croc, Captain Boomerang, Slipknot, and Harley Quinn."

A few soldiers wheeled in several wooden crates, each marked with an inmate's name. "Those carts contain your shit we confiscated. Take what you need, and make good use of it."

Captain Boomerang hurriedly rushed to his crate, hoping to see his most prized possession. He lifted the crate lid up, and shuffled through his many boomerangs of various sizes. His eyes finally caught a little fuzz of pink, and he dug levels and levels of his junk before finally feeling his hands enclose over a fuzzy, soft object.

"Pinky." Captain Boomerang whispered affectionately, holding his pink unicorn plushie tight before hiding it within his coat.

Once he finished getting his necessary supplies, he turned to see the Joker's girlfriend looking longingly at a black and red costume. She shuffled through her things, pulling out a large choker with a golden "puddin'" on it, and gave the medallion a quick kiss before putting it around her neck. She pulled out a red and blue shirt and shorts (she had contemplated wearing something that looked like bikini shorts, but had thrown it away), and casually began stripping in the middle of a pack of male soldiers, disregarding the stares and frowns.

"Look at you go, hotness," Captain Boomerang whistled towards Harley Quinn, as she wiggled into her shirt. "Shame you decided not to wear those bikini shorts—they show off that butt really nicely."

Harley turned to him with an infuriated scowl. "Go fuck yourself."

"Hey, I'm just saying, wearing those booty shorts would make up for the fact that you won't be contributing much during violent, _physical confrontations._ " Captain Boomerang leered at the increasingly enraged blond.

"Hey, hey," the tattooed freak called, "leave the lady alone. If she's Joker's girlfriend, she's probably more than capable of concaving your skull."

"Diablo, I appreciate it, but I don't need you defending me." Harley scowled. "Look here, you Australian pussy. Don't jump to conclusions just because you're a sexist bitch."

"Can all of you just stop arguing?" Flag yelled, frowning at the lot before Boomerang could retort. "We've got a call."

He pulled out an iPad, and held it so that the screen faced the inmates. "Behold, the voice of God."

"Hello, Task Force X." Amanda Waller greeted.

"Why hello to you too, the future sponsor of my daughter's life ." Deadshot greeted with a wave.

"I am Director Waller," Amanda continued, "I am sponsoring this project. I'm sure you've been debriefed by Colonel Flag—you work for me in exchange for clemency, or whatever little offer you want me to fulfill. You'll be going to the island of Diabloverde today—come back alive if you can. And a little tip—don't do anything to Colonel Flag. He's not the only one who can detonate your bombs."

The woman held up a touchpad with the photos of each villain lined up next to each other. Their photos were all outline in green, but Boomerang knew that if that woman clicked on any of their faces, they'd most likely end up with a blasted skull. If only there was some way to make sure of it so that he could escape on the move.

The woman subsequently disconnected the call, and Slipknot frowned. "You didn't really talk about the clemency thing."

"Shut it." Rick snapped.

Deadshot rolled his eyes at the colonel. "You know, if you want us to work coherently, you might want to work on your motivational speech skills."

"You threatening me?" Rick asked, growling as he approached Deadshot with an angry glare.

"Your so-called God? That woman knows how to pack a punch. You just sound like a whiny kindergartener who didn't get the lunch he wanted." Deadshot sneered back, eliciting snorts and giggles from Harley Quinn. "You know Phil Jackson? He's the gold standard. Triangle, bitch."

"Alright, we're moving out, team." Colonel Flag ordered after a few seconds of silence. The newly formed squad followed him to a nearby military aircraft, running up the slope and strapping themselves to their seats.

As the chopper began to slowly rise, someone jumped through the closing entrance with surprising agility. The figure straightened up to reveal oriental armor and a white mask emblazoned with a red circle. "This," Rick Flag yelled over the wind, "is Katana. She's going to be the body guard of June and I, and will be watching all of you very, _very_ carefully."

"June?" Boomerang scowled. "Who the hell is June?"

"This," Rick scowled back, gesturing to a petite, blond woman next to him, "is June. She's going to be a part of this team as well."

"Why don't you go ahead and tell me we have a giraffe on this goddamn team—did we not get out line-up straightened out or did you guys put this together in five minutes?" Deadshot snorted as he observed June, who was staring at her hands nervously. Truth be told, he hadn't noticed the woman until Rick had gestured to her—he didn't remember her sitting next to him a few minutes ago.

"She's a girl with a lot of talents." Rick grunted, putting a protective arm around her shoulder. "She's stronger than most of you lot, that I can wager."

"What, she's going to slap some enemies with a clipboard until they faint?" Slipknot snorted, exchanging a look with Boomerang.

It was June who replied this time, in a small, crawling voice. "No, but I wish I did."

A/N: i have writers block. which made this chapter excruciating to write. which also kinda sucked. more faster paced next chapter, that i definitely promise you. i absolutely do not want to drag things on. the little exposition with killer croc was by far my favorite thing to write - writing in joker's pov is the hardest thing ive tried to tackle, because its so hard seeing things his way. but i hope you guys enjoyed, and thank you so much for the encouraging reviews!


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